


A Little Brit of Jack and Daniel

by jdjunkie



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Crack Fic, Humour, M/M, Meta Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-10
Updated: 2012-05-10
Packaged: 2017-11-05 03:03:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdjunkie/pseuds/jdjunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If we’re going to infiltrate Stargate England special ops-style in the hope of rooting out the baddies, because the worst baddies are English as we know, then you have to make the effort.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Brit of Jack and Daniel

**Author's Note:**

> This bit of nonsense grew out of the frustrations of an Englishwoman writing in an American fandom. Sometimes, I just want to say, "To hell with it. I will write it British. How do you like THEM English Cox's Orange Pippins!"
> 
> So, I sent Jack and Daniel to England.
> 
> This is the result.
> 
> With apologies.

Jack threw his suitcase down on the disappointingly small but nevertheless average-sized double bed in the tiny flat that was now their home away from home.

“God I’m beat,” he said, following the case down onto the William Morris-print duvet that matched the twee curtains in migraine-inducing fashion.

“Knackered,” Daniel corrected, seemingly unthinkingly as he wandered round the unsurprisingly small dinette, getting to grips with the electric kettle, kitchen cupboards and cooker.

“Some of the British would say knackered. Probably.”

Jack sighed. “What? You’re an expert in twenty-something languages and you don’t _know_? How the fuck are we suppose to blend in if you don’t know something as simple as that.”

Pissed. He was pissed. Pissed off. _Pissed off._ Think Brit, think Brit…

“I’m gonna take a shower. Maybe then I’ll feel more human. Jet lag sucks.” Jack levered himself up from the bed and wandered into the disappointingly small lounge. Why they couldn’t have eschewed Virgin Atlantic in favour of beaming technology was any marginally-talented fanfic writer’s guess.

“You’re going to _have_ a shower, Jack. Make an effort. If we’re going to infiltrate Stargate England special ops-style in the hope of rooting out the baddies, because the worst baddies are English as we know, then you have to make the effort.” Daniel picked up a cafetiere and peered into it. What the hell was wrong with a coffee pot anyway?

“I’ll give it my best shot,” Jack threw over his shoulder only slightly sarcastically as he disappeared into the disappointingly small bathroom.

“I’ll do my best!” Daniel shouted back, irritated.

He heard the shower spring into life and an off-key rendering of _Jeruslaem_ assaulted his eardrums. Daniel sighed.

It was going to be a long mission.

As part of the groundwork for taking the programme public, the Stargate was being loaned out to some of the world’s leading and most important nations on a six-month rotation. The Gate had been Asgard-beamed in and was currently located somewhere in a top, top, really top secret (not like Torchwood) facility somewhere beneath Slough; a town remarkable for its unremarkableness, which, in turn, Daniel found remarkable.

Daniel inspected the contents of the kitchen cupboards; English breakfast tea, biscuits, scones and jam. The fridge held bacon, Cumberland sausage and black pudding.

This country was a heart attack waiting to happen.

There was a half-full bottle of Spry Crisp and Dry on the kitchen worktop. Excellent; ready-made lube.

He put the kettle on, wandered into the lounge and found the remote control for the TV, after first checking his mobile phone for messages. It contained one. “I hear it’s raining there. Ha ha. Sam.”

The TV tuned into Sky Sports One.

Daniel frowned, then grimaced.

“Great! Soccer,” Jack, enthused, emerging from the bathroom in a delicate peach-coloured towelling dressing gown that had been hanging on the back of the door.

“Football, actually.”

Daniel flicked to Sky Sports Two.

“Woo hoo! Football.”

“American football.”

“Damn it, we’re never going to fit in,” Jack moaned, slumping onto the taupe coloured Dralon-covered DFS settee.

“Sure we will,” Daniel said, flicking channels. “No-one knows us here. We’re only available on satellite. All we have to do is perfect our accents and hey nonny no, away we go.”

Jack eyed him sideways. “Hey nonny no?”

“Just a British phrase. You know, Morris dancing … bells … men in silly hats.”

“Actually, Daniel, from the 16th century to the Victorian era, nonny no was a euphemism for the vagina.”

Daniel dropped the remote on the inexpensive but stylishly contemporary cream and beige Ikea rug. He looked at Jack, thunderstruck.

“What? You think I didn’t do _some_ research before we leftcivilisation?”

Daniel blinked owlishly at him.

“Now,” Jack said, rubbing his hands together and lurching amorously towards Daniel. “Do we get to have sex?”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait,” Daniel forestalled, raising a warning finger. “We have to start getting into character here. Ask me again.”

Jack pursed his lips, sighed but did as he was told anyway. “So, Daniel do we get to have sex now?”

“We most certainly do not. We have to think like Brits … Care for a cup of tea instead?”

 

ends


End file.
